


Everlasting Love

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: Bruce Wayne has terrible taste in women, Comicverse & Movieverse elements, F/M, Harley In Metropolis: What could go wrong?, Harley Is A Good Bro, Having my way with the canon, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Oh the crackiness of it all, Older Fic Re-posted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you've had to give up on the love of your life? </p><p>Both Clark Kent and new girl in town Harley Quinzel are wrestling with this question. It takes the reappearence of Lex Luthor, The Joker and Bruce Wayne to get Big Blue back on track- But what will Lois and her current partner think of it all? </p><p>This is an older fic I just thought I'd repost. Like all my Superman fics it's set in the post "Superman Returns," universe. So if that's your poison, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lil Ole Wine Drinker, Me

 

_Disclaimer_ : I do not own Big Blue ( I'd only get him dirty) and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbetaed so mistakes are mine. 

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**CHAPTER ONE: LITTLE OLE WINE DRINKER ME**

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It took an awful lot of alcohol to get Clark Kent drunk. Despite the fact that he was the universally recognised definition of "nerd," young Mr. Kent could hold his drink with the best of them. Better than most, actually. Some might have said that it was his height and build, which despite his clumsiness would not have looked out of place on an NFL opening line-up. Some might have said that it was his Irish ancestry, which was well attested to in the area around Smallville. Some might even have claimed that it was just one of those things, a gift that some people had and some people didn't.

All of those people would have been wrong.

Because the real reason that Clark Kent could hold his liquor was the shining sun above him, and the fact that he was the last living member of a long dead race. Which put him, he sometimes mused in his darker moments, in a bit of a pickle. That time-honoured way for human beings to get rid of their troubles, ie buying the biggest bottle of whatever diesel they fancied and putting it to their head until it was empty, along with their wallet, their heart and (hopefully) their memory, was impossible for him. He couldn't get drunk. He was reasonably sure he couldn't get stoned either, though he'd never had any particular desire to test that out. The only way  _he_  was heading into blessed oblivion would involve once again lifting several hundred thousand tonnes of irradiated Kryptonite into the upper atmosphere and then falling to earth like a stone.

And darn it, he'd done that  _last_  weekend.

Clark took another swig from his beer and tried very hard not to think about Lois. He screwed up his face in the effort, ignoring the looks from passers-by. Lois and he had been through a lot, with the cape and without it, and he thought he knew her pretty well. He thought that even though she saw Clark Kent as a light-weight, and someone who just had a little crush on her, she would have been happy to see  _him_  again. Maybe not Superman, since he'd left her (he now knew) pregnant and alone. But surely she would want to see Clark;  _they'd_  always gotten along. She'd taught him a lot about life in the big city, and about journalism. She'd taught him how to catch a cab the Metropolis way, and to always listen to your gut when it comes to an informant. They'd been a team, even if he was only the junior partner for most of it.

He thought she would want to sit down like they used to do and he could tell her his (entirely fictional but well-thought-out) adventures in foreign lands. He'd even been nervous that she'd ask too many questions. And what had she done instead? She'd foisted some files on him and snickered about him behind his back with her fiancé. What had really hurt was that Richard White had defended him. Time was-

_Time was your dad was alive, Lois and Superman were an item and you were her best friend. But those times are gone, Kent, long gone._

"Is anyone sitting here?" A female voice intruded. He looked up and smiled politely at the young woman sitting down beside him, not having even waited for him to answer her question. She looked about his age, maybe a couple of years younger. She was messily pulling off a soaking three-quarter length white leather coat and fluffy scarf, drenching everyone within a ten mile radius. In fact everything about her seemed to be either black or white: black skin-tight jeans, white skin-tight t-shirt, black boots. Her skin was white as alabaster, and her peroxide white hair glistened with the rain. She was wearing heavy eye-makeup and blood red lipstick; without the Goth war-paint Clark thought that she would have been quite pretty.

She noticed him. Her eyes narrowed, and her lithe thin frame tensed as if she was expecting a fight. As if she was ready for a fight. Clark did his best don't-mind-me-my-mom-still-dresses-me smile and looked back down into his beer.

"Hey stretch, ya do a favour for a girl?" He looked back up. Her eyes met his, daring him to say no. He'd never seen a pout look so… aggressive.

"Well that depends what it is, Miss," he answered good naturedly, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose for good measure.

"I have a tag caught on the back of my shirt; could you get it off for me please?" She batted her eyelashes as she said it, though the gaze itself remained cold. Again without waiting for his response she twirled slowly around on her stool and presented him with a mainly uncovered expanse of muscled white back. Clark was surprised at how toned it was; he guessed she must be an athlete, maybe a swimmer or a gymnast. He grabbed the offending tag and tugged lightly at it, pulling it off. While Clark Kent seldom had women throwing themselves at him Superman dealt with it all the time, and he would deal with this one too. He'd just make sure he was polite…

"Hey honey, this guy bothering you?" A huge skin-headed man, wearing the universal uniform of the body-builder (white vest, jeans, sneakers) placed a beefy hand on the young woman's shoulder. She swivelled around to eye him balefully.

"Oh yeah, baby. The dude I just asked to help me out is bothering me. The gorgeous, quiet, mannerly dude who just pulled off the tag on my shirt is bothering me. The gorgeous, quiet, mannerly dude WHO ISN'T YOU is bothering me." Clark glanced nervously about him at her last screech. "Go home to your momma and ask her why she dropped you on your head as a baby, creep!"

"Hey!" the beefy man snapped, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her to her feet. "You little bitch! You can't talk to me like that!"

"Hey now," Clark tried to interject, uncomfortable with where this was going "There's no need to use language like that around a lady-"

"Lady," Beefy sneered "This one's nothing but a two bit Gotham tramp-"

The punch came from nowhere to land squarely on his nose, shattering it and spraying blood all over his face. The girl pushed herself up on the foot-rest of the bar-stool and with one swift motion whipped both her legs around the man's chest, simultaneously locking her arm around his throat. She began to squeeze unmercifully hard, and within seconds the man's face was turning blue. Everyone jumped back from the spectacle, knocking their drinks over.

"I was just asking a nice guy to do me a favour and now look what you've gone and made me do!" she was muttering vindictively into his ear. Beefy wheezed in response. "I mean, this guy was just bein' nice and you have to go and get all macho on his ass, and that Mr., is just a case of bad manners!" She looked apologetically at Clark. "I'm real sorry, Mr. I didn't mean to start any trouble for ya, but some people," (at this she gave another nasty looking twist against his throat) "just aint got no class!"

"Oh, that's quite alright Miss, Miss?" Clark really hoped he wouldn't have to wrestle her off Beefy. She might get the wrong idea.

"You can call me Harli. COS MY FRIENDS DO!" Another unmercifully hard squeeze. This was the last straw for Beefy: Harli let his body fall to the floor, releasing her legs' grip on his torso and swinging herself up onto the bar in one smooth motion.

_Definitely a gymnast_ , Clark thought.

"We should call a doctor," he began, bending down to check the man's pulse.

"Nah, don't bother. I didn't do anything permanent, just made sure he'll wake up with a headache. It'd take a lot more pressure than that to kill, trust me." She shot him a brilliant smile. "I just hurt his pride." Nonchalantly she leaned behind the bar and pulled a slice of lemon out from storage. She popped it in her mouth, sucking on the flavour, before offering one to Clark. He shook his head, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose again. She seemed to like the gesture. "So we should bail, cos when he wakes up he's gonna be totally pissed 'bout this." She swung down onto the floor and grabbed her coat. "C'mon, you can help me get barred from Club Stomp, it's the only place I'm still allowed into."  _And here Clark had been unaware that Metropolis **had**  a Club Stomp._

"Miss, Miss," he began as she all but dragged him outside, "Miss, I think I should maybe call you a cab home or something-"

"Why? I feel fine," she answered breezily as she dragged him, and though he could have stopped her at any time he didn't want to cause a scene in front of the entire City Desk Bar.

"But Miss, I mean Harli, I think maybe I've given you the wrong impression-"

She stopped dead. Suddenly Clark felt monumentally thankful that he was Kryptonian. She was about to try the same routine on him as on Beefy. He steeled himself (no pun intended he thought despondently)-

And suddenly, she… burst into tears. For a moment Clark was stupefied.  _It's a trick, It's a trick, It's a trick!_ his mind chanted. But it didn't seem to be. Harli looked up at him through her mass of platinum hair, her eyes wide as Bambi's, and Clark felt his heart melt. She must have had a hard day or something. It couldn't be easy being gorgeous and tiny and easily hit-upon. She was just a poor, misguided kid, and now she was crying-

She sniffed, her mascara running, her lips trembling. "That's the nicest thing anyone's EVER said to me!"

Clark tried the old patting-her-hand routine. "Oh I'm sure that's not true!"

She gulped and nodded earnestly, hiccupping just a little. "It is! You're trying to be all gentlemanly and nice, and not, not, take advantage!" Her face screwed up with tears, she gave a cute little yowl of anguish, her hand fluttering like a fan around her face. "My last boyfriend just used to tell me to shut up and get on with it, and now you're, you're-" she couldn't finish.

Clark decided to risk the old awkward-half-hug he occasionally used on Jimmy at the Planet Christmas party. Clearly this ex-boyfriend of hers had been a grade-A jackass, talking to her like that. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but nastiness towards woman really bothered him.

"You're just so nice. What's your name?" She looked up at him, twitching her nose against the rain like a cute little post-punk squirrel.

_Uh oh_ , he thought.  _Nobody ever gets mugged in Metropolis when you need them to…_ "Em, it's Clark," he answered hesitantly.

She blinked. "Like the movie star?"

He had to smile. "No, it was my mom's maiden name."

"Oh. And you work in the Daily Planet?"

Now he was getting suspicious. "How'd you figure that?"

"You're wearing a Daily Planet ID badge."

_Oops._  "So I am."

A beat.

"So you wanna maybe get a coffee or something? I mean, if you're not a Club Stomp kinda guy." Again the batting eye-lashes, though he couldn't be completely certain that that wasn't just one of her mannerisms, something she did without realizing that it was provocative. She shivered slightly, and he realized that they were both getting drenched. Kryptonian bodies didn't register cold the way human bodies did, but then again Kryptonian bodies couldn't catch pneumonia either. He opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly a familiar voice cut across him.

"Clark, what are you still doing here?" Lois dodged through the traffic like a quarterback, causing several cabbies to put on their breaks with a screech of tyres and some colourful language. Lois, being Lois, ignored them. She hurried up to him, somehow managing to avoid getting drenched despite the fact that she had no umbrella, and looked expectantly at Harli.

"Hi, have we been introduced?" she asked in a business-like (bossy) tone. Harli immediately straightened up.

"No, I'm Harleen Quinzel. I'm new in town, just moved here from Gotham." The air seemed charged with something, an unspoken challenge, and once again Clark wished that he spoke Woman-Speak. "Clark here was just helping me out, got a spot of bother in the bar over there."

"Oh and Clark was being a good Samaritan, was he?"

"More like a knight in shining armour, actually." She smiled sweetly at him, and despite himself he smiled back. "Oh, I didn't quite catch your name Miss..?"

"Lane. Lois Lane." She made a show of patting Clark's arm. Harli cocked a decidedly adversarial-looking eyebrow. "I'm Clark's partner."

"Oh." It wasn't a knowing "oh," it was… an unimpressed one.

"We work together," he elaborated, drawing an annoyed glare from Lois.

"Oh." Harli smirked.

The silence stretched out. "Well. We've got to be going-" Lois began briskly.

"We do?"

"Yeah Clark, we do." Her tone brooked no disagreement. "It was nice meeting you, Holly-"

"Harli," the girl corrected, trying belatedly to dry her eyes. Clark gave her his handkerchief. Lois glared. Harli grinned. She handed it back to Clark. They turned to move away.

_Well I suppose she looks better now,_ he thought…

"Oh, and Clark?"

He turned back. "Yes, Harli?"

Suddenly she seemed shy. "Thanks for, for what you said. I'll make it up to you some day." She leaned forward, and blushing furiously, gave him a tiny peck on the cheek. Then she turned tail and all but ran into the oncoming traffic, disappearing into the busy city.

Lois had her cynical face on. "You can thank me later," she informed him.

"For what?" he almost sounded annoyed, something he never sounded with Lois. She blinked.

"For saving you from that little Lolita wannabe." He rolled his eyes.

"She was harmless, she's just trying to get over a bad break-up."

"Sure she is."

"Lois!"

"Clark, the last time I saw a woman eyeing something the way she was eyeing you, it was Sister Mary Francis in a candy store three days before the end of Lent."

Clark shook his head. "You sure do have some weird ideas Lois."

She grinned. "I'm sure she's really  _swell_ , but you listen to your Aunty Lois and stay away from temptation."

_Chance'd be a fine thing_.

"Clark are you listening to me?"

He forced himself to nod. "Yes, Lois, I'm listening."  _As usual._

"Great! You wanna get a coffee or something? You're soaked." He opened his mouth to agree, but she was already brushing him off. "Oh shoot, I have to meet Richard at Fabiano's! Rain-check, ok?" She was already making her way off, pulling out her cell-phone. "Night Clark," she called distractedly as she dialled.

"Night, Lois," he muttered, feeling crestfallen. He closed his eyes, willing the mask of indifference back onto his face. It was for the best, it really was. Somewhere, about twenty-five blocks away, an alarm pierced the night sky. Back to the day job, he thought resignedly, wondering whether he'd ever have a night when he didn't end up feeling miserable. He jogged off, already searching for somewhere to change into his suit.

Harli stepped out from the shadows, head cocked to one side. So little Miss Lane was where his heart lay, was it? And the stupid dame hadn't even realised yet. Harli shook her head to herself; if there was one thing she knew about, it was unrequited love. Love where one partner treated the other partner like crap. She'd been through it and she'd survived. And now, now she would help Clark with his problem. She'd meant it when she'd said she'd make it up to him. She would just have to figure out the best way to do that.

A slow smile split her face.  _Mr. J. always did say I liked a challenge…_

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A/N If you liked then please review.

 


	2. I Get A Kick Out Of You

 

Disclaimer: No profit made, no litigation necessary, ya dig? Still  no beta reader neither, so all mistakes are mine... 

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**CHAPTER TWO: I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU**

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The next day Clark came in to find a bunch of daisies sitting on his desk in work. When he first saw them he initially assumed they must be for Dawn, over in legal, or maybe even for Lois. They certainly couldn't be for him.

"They came with a note, Kent," Richard White said with a grin, sitting down on his desk. At Clark's look he held up his hands in placation. "Jimmy told me. Told Lois too. She wasn't impressed." Clark raised his eyebrows in surprise and he smiled more widely. "I love Lo, she's a great woman, but she has some pretty weird ideas when it comes to you and the opposite sex. Seems to think you can't be left to your own devices." Clark just hoped that his smile wasn't too baleful. At least Lois spends some time thinking of me, he mused despondently. Richard leaned in confidentially. "I tried to point out that you'd survived five years travelling on your own, so you must have some idea how to deal with the ladies." He laughed. "Got me the silent treatment for twenty minutes."

"She still does that?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"I see you've been on the receiving end of it too. What had you done?"

Despite himself Clark smiled. "Told her there was no f in "pharmaceutical." It was the first time I ever corrected her. She refused to speak to me for an hour. But after that if she needed a word checked she always asked me." He smiled at the memory. Lois at her stubborn, fascinating best.

"Well," Richard broke into his reverie, looking slightly uncomfortable, "The little sweetie who dropped these off was cute. White hair, big brown eyes. Looked kinda…"

"Pixie-like?"

"See, that's why you're a writer. Perfect description. She was pixie-like." He gestured to the flowers. "Said they were a thank you present. I think she left her number too." Clark picked up the tiny card and read its contents.

**Hey Clark,**

**Just a note to say thanks for yesterday. Hope I didn't come off as too much of a dweeb. There's this great Turkish coffee place around the corner from me, on Lexington and 9th. See you there tonight at 7? My treat. You can reach me at 555 78 52 to confirm.**

**Thanks again,**

**Harli**

To his credit Richard didn't try to see what was written on it. Clark wished once again that White was just a jerk he could hate, but he wasn't. He liked the man. And he'd saved his life, putting the life of his wife and child in danger in the process. That wasn't something to be sneered at. But still, still…

"I think she just has a little bit of a crush." Why did he feel the need to explain himself to this man? "Seemed to be going through a bad break-up. I don't think anyone had been nice to her in a really long time." Clark mentally berated himself. When in Clark-mode, he had gotten into the habit of letting his mouth run away with him. One day he suspected it was going to get him into really hot water. "I should give her a call, say thank you. Make sure she doesn't get the wrong idea."

"Oh that's a great idea, Clark. Give the gorgeous pixie-lady the brush off." He could see that White was trying not to laugh.

He thought about what had happened to Beefy.  _This was definitely for the best._  "She's on the rebound. It wouldn't be right to take advantage."  _Or safe_ , he silently added.

"Well if you say so." White stood up to go. "But Kent, if you do let her down gently, would you give her Jimmy's number? He's been talking about her all day." Clark couldn't help sharing Richard's grin. The man seemed to treat him with more respect than anyone else in the Daily Planet offices these days. It was kinda nice, to be let in on the joke from time to time.

"Trust me, she'd have Jimmy for breakfast."

"Well  _yeah_ , but he'd die with a smile on his face." And with a final grin Richard returned to his office.

Clark pulled out his cell and dialled the number.  _Best to get this over with._

"Hello, Metropolis School of Performance, how may I direct your call?" the voice on the other end was nasal, uninterested.

"Hi, I'm looking for-" (what had she said her full name was?) "Harleen Quinzel? Is she there?"

"Miss Quinzel is currently teaching a class. May I take a message?"

"Um, yeah, um, this is Clark from the Daily Planet. It's to confirm tonight." He could hear the woman rolling her eyes over the phone. He fought the urge to explain himself. He'd been pretending to be Clark Kent for so long that sometimes he actively turned into him. "Just to let her know that I'll be there after work."

"Fine, fine, I'll let her know."

"Well thank you ma'a-" She hung up before he could finish.

"Who was that?" Lois asked, skilfully navigating through the crowd without spilling her coffee.

"The girl from last night, she um…" he gestured helplessly to the flowers. "Just want to let her down gently, y'know."

Lois pursed her lips. "You know, you're too nice for your own good sometimes, Clark."

_Don't I know it._ "She just needs someone to be friendly to her." Lois cocked an eyebrow. "And she  _did_  send me a gift." He smiled his goofiest Clark smile, knowing it would make Lois laugh and get her off the topic. "So did you manage to get in touch with your contact in City Hall?"

They fell back into their regular pattern of shop talk, though Lois still spoke over him more than she used to. They shared a pastrami sandwich, and Jimmy came over to show them the latest photos from the bank heist Superman had foiled the night before.

_Same old same old_ , he thought to himself.  _This is the way things are always going to be._

Little did he know that things would be changing very soon for Clark Kent, and not necessarily for the better.

 

 

 

  

 


	3. Someone To Watch Over Me

 

Disclaimer: Me no profit, me poor student! Have mercy, good sirs!

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**CHAPTER 3: SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME**

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Harli hadn't really been settling into Metropolis. Truth was, she was a Gotham girl through and through, and if she hadn't been forced to leave her home town she never would have. Harli loved everything about Gotham, loved the huge gaunt buildings like something out of a fairytale, loved the hustle and bustle of the streets. She loved the way that darkness seemed to fall gradually, like the city was slowly sinking into a fog of charcoal mist. There was nothing like sitting on top of one of Gotham's largest skyscrapers watching the sun go down for the night.

_And of course, there was nowhere on Earth that could compete with Gotham once darkness fell_.

Metropolis was different. Everything was so shiny and sleek and modern. They cleaned the buildings here, for crying out loud. It was like they were constantly trying to wash away their past. That's what had finally persuaded her to come here: Metropolis seemed like the kind of place where you could start over. And if there was one thing Harli would dearly love to do, it was to start over. In Gotham she was a celebrity, and not in a good way. Her time with the J-Man had made her infamous, and even though they had now parted for good, people still seemed unable to accept that she genuinely wanted to turn over a new leaf. Only last month she'd nearly died because of her reputation. One misunderstanding with a sales clerk in a shoe shop had led to the entire Gotham PD coming out to get her, assuming that she was on some kind of crime spree when the stupid dame behind the till had simply forgotten to take the sales tag off the PVC boots she'd bought. If the Batman hadn't intervened on her behalf she'd probably be toast right now.

And that was another thing: her former criminal comrades wanted nothing to do with her now they'd they found out that Batman had saved her life. Even Poison Ivy (with whom she shared a cell the last time she'd been in Arkham) was treating her like a pariah. That had been the straw that (proverbially) broke the camel's back. She'd packed up her stuff, made a few phone calls and discovered that one of the gymnasts she'd trained with in college was looking for a circus performer to teach in Metropolis. She'd left the next day.

But she'd hated it. Hated the way everyone smiled at you when they saw you (what had they to smile about? All that was special about their town was crappy old Superman: Gotham's resident rubber-clad hero was way cooler than him any day of the week). Hated the way everyone looked pityingly at her when she'd explained that she was from Gotham. They acted like it was a third world frickin' country and not three hours down the Inter-state. But most especially she'd hated that everyone stared at her, just like they did back home. She was willing to allow that it was for a different reason (the men were perving on her and not trying to figure out whether she was going to kill them) but it was still disconcerting.

And then she'd met  _him_.

Harli was honest enough to admit that she was a romantic. She also knew, however, what following those romantic inclinations had cost her. The relationship with Mr. J had been catastrophic in every sense of the word. But you can't choose who you love. The days she spent with him were the happiest times of her life. Everyone else saw death and dismemberment; all she saw was a courtship, drenched in blood perhaps, but then weren't all Valentines red in the end? And even if she did have to part from him, the least she could do was lend love a hand. When Clark had been nice to her, for the first time in as long as she could remember she'd felt anonymous. The dude wasn't trying to take anything from her, wasn't trying to get anywhere: he was a gentleman. He was what guys were supposed to be but never were. She'd given him every chance to get a hit in and he hadn't tried it, not once. And he hadn't even been upset when she'd sent that beefcake packing. Most men would have been. The Joker had always gone ballistic when she took such matters into her own hands: she had the scars to prove it. But not Clark. He was in love with one person, and while the broad might have been too dumb to see it, he'd been true to her like a real knight should. Harli knew how he'd felt. She'd always been true to her Mr. J. no matter what he did.

So she'd decided: she would help him. People like her and Clark always seemed to get the fuzzy end of love's lollypop, but she could maybe change that. In fact, she knew she could. Hadn't all of Arkham thought that she'd never manage to give The Scarecrow nightmares for a month, and hadn't she pulled that off? Was she not the reason that Doctor Johansson was terrified of toasters? Why Doctor Costas couldn't stand the sight of a child's skipping rope? Getting this Lane dame to see sense should be a walk in the park after all that.

No, Harli was an intelligent, determined, goal-orientated young woman. And for his kindness her current goal was to get Clark Kent the girl of his dreams. Anything else was failure.

She'd spent the entire night after she'd left him reading up on Clark. Once she'd broken the security code and firewall protections around the Daily Planet's online archives (and those of Metropolis University, and those of the IRS, and those of Smallville High) she'd begun to get a picture of what kinda guy she was dealing with. He got great grades (nearly as good as hers in chemistry, even better than hers in physics) though unlike her he never played sports in school. That surprised her, because he was a big guy, and even if he was clumsy he would have been fine playing football. He seemed to have taken to journalism late in his high school career, though he did major in it when he went to Metro U. There was precious little else about him. He seemed to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and always missing the crucial moment of a story, but his ability with exposition and way with interviewees nicely complemented Lois' own. He  _did_  come from Smallville, a town which even Gothamites thought was a little nutso, so maybe he'd learned to keep his head down there.

She smiled to herself as she surveyed his photo: at least he didn't look like a mutant. In fact, do something with that hair and teach the boy to stand up straight and he'd be fighting them off with a stick. He wasn't her type, obviously (too goody-two-shoes for little old Harli) but he hadn't been tapped with the ugly stick either. Yeah, getting Miss Lane to see sense shouldn't be difficult at all.

Besides, she had a cunning plan, the first part of which had been caught fresh this morning and was lying chained and unconscious in her bathroom. That should improve Clark's chances.

Having received his message she arrived at Yasmina's Café at exactly 7. She didn't have any trouble spotting him; he was attempting to squeeze his long frame into one of the tiny booths, and she smiled. She turned and addressed the owner in Turkish, and within seconds a small table and two low chairs had been brought out. She tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ya wanna come out before ya hurt yourself there, Stretch?" she asked good humouredly. He looked slightly relieved and out of breath. She gestured to the makeshift table. "Gita thought that this might be more comfortable." One of the waitresses laughed and said something about tall western men to her in Turkish. When she answered her Clark cocked an eyebrow.

"Step-dad number three was Turkish. He taught me the language." She shrugged. When Clark finally folded himself into the seat two of the waitresses gave him a little clap. Despite the pinkness around his ears he laughed along with them.

_Definitely a prince amongst men._

"So uh, Harli," he began, earnestly pushing those glasses of his back up onto his nose "I wanted to thank you for the flowers-"

"Oh it was no trouble, just hope you liked them-"

"I did, I mean it's been a really long while since a woman's bought me flowers," he frowned "In fact, you're the first, but I think that maybe you have the wrong impression-"

_Aw, that was so cute!_ She held her hand up. "Clark, I don't have the wrong impression. I know that your heart is set on someone else, and I am the last person who would ever interfere with that."

He shut his mouth with an audible snap.

"I only had to meet Miss Lane last night to realise that this was where your heart truly lay. And I can't blame you, she's one good lookin' dame."

"She's a lot more than that," he said quietly.

_It really is a pity he's off the market_ , she mused to herself. "Clark, I sent you those flowers because you're the first person in a really long time who's been nice to me." She shrugged. "I'm new in town, and I haven't made any friends yet. I just thought that maybe  _you'd_  like to be my friend. If that was out of line then I'm sorry."

He looked like a puppy that had been kicked. "No Harli, that wasn't out of line at all! I just, I mean, you said that you'd, I mean you gave the impression that you'd just gone through a nasty break-up and sometimes when you do that-"

"You just want to find a good-looking, perfect stranger you know nothing about and engage in unspeakably depraved sexual acts over and over and over again until there's just no room left inside your sweaty, naked, sated body for even the thought of your ex?" She batted her eyelashes at him, waiting for him to respond.

She expected his voice to sound slightly strangled, or for him to blush. Instead he got pissed and stood up. "Friends don't make fun of each other, Miss Quinzel."

_Oops, obviously I hit a nerve_. "Clark. I'm sorry, I just-" Why  _had_  she said it anyway? "I'm just used to talking about sex when I feel uncomfortable. It's a defence tactic." He eyed her warily. "Please, it's just, well you stick to what you know and when you look like me everyone expects you to talk like that, to know about stuff like that." He was making her feel uncomfortable. "Surely you know what it's like to have everyone judge you just on how you look."

He softened, sat back down. "Yeah," he said, more sadly than she would have guessed. "But I don't assume you'd know about stuff like that."

"You don't?"

"No! You seem like a really nice girl to me. I mean, not that nice girls don't like sex, because they do, and there's nothing dirty about it, it's just that, well-"

"It sounded like I was trying to be mean," she finished.

"Yeah," he said morosely.

"Well, I don't want to be mean," she said bracingly, to break the beat of silence that had descended. "I want to be good. That's why I came here. No more bad boys and visits to the city pen' for Harleen. No sir."

He glanced suddenly up at her. "You've been to prison?"

"Well, they usually put me in your more secure medical facilities, actually. I-" She sighed. "You might say I fell in with the wrong crowd. My ex-" There was no way she was going there. "Jack and me, it was a bad relationship. One of those ones where no matter how low you sink you just can't let go. The other person isn't a lover to you, they're a fix. You ever been in that situation?"

"Nobody's ever asked me that before," he said in quiet amazement. "Nobody's ever thought I could be so, so, reckless." She cocked an eyebrow, surprised because the thought that she believed him reckless had made him smile a little bit. He had a nice smile, she thought. World could do with seeing it more often. "But yes, I know how it feels to love someone you just can't seem to let go of."

Harli nodded understandingly. "Well, me and the J-Man, we couldn't get enough of each other. Keeping us apart, it would have been like trying to split an atom. And you know what splitting atoms leads to: Hiroshima." Her eyes glazed over as she remembered another time, another place. "It was just me and him against the world. And then, then he left me." It had been a huge plot, he'd tried to bomb Arkham. He'd had a getaway helicopter standing by, but he hadn't thought to get Harli out with him. That was when she'd realised that all their time together, all their bloodied Valentines, hadn't meant a damn thing to him in the end. She could still remember the Batman's cowled face staring sorrowfully,  _pityingly_ , at her as he'd flown away. The fact that she'd single-handedly brought his copter down and dragged his sorry ass back into Arkham, had made no difference to her.

Her heart had been broken into a billion tiny pieces that day.

"I'm sorry, Harli, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

She snapped back to attention. "It's okay Clark. Can't do the time, shouldn't do the crime." She nodded to one of the waitresses, who brought over two tiny handled cups of Turkish coffee. She stopped for a moment, inhaled, before she began to drink. She noticed that Clark did the same.

"You ever have Turkish coffee before?"

He nodded. "Yeah, when I was a teenager. This one time in Istanbul-" suddenly he stopped. She frowned, but decided not to press.

"So, if you're not rushing off, there's something I'd like you to see in my apartment," she announced, moving off the topic since he seemed so uncomfortable with it. Again he eyed her warily, and she laughed. "Don't worry Clark! If I was chasing you, believe me you'd know it." He smiled uncertainly but relaxed a bit. "It's just something I think you might have an interest in. Can you come up?"

He paused a long while before he nodded, weighing up his options.  _No split second decisions for this boy_ , she thought to herself.

"Sure, I'll come up. Just let me finish this coffee first."

She grinned. "Clark, if we're going to be friends then you should know that I never leave a cup of Turkish coffee unfinished. It's an insult to the entire nation."

They smiled at each other.  _This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,_  she thought to herself.

 

  

 


	4. Memories Are Made Of This

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.

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**CHAPTER FOUR: MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS**

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As they walked up the five flights of stairs to her apartment, Harli once again mused about how different Clark was from just about every other man in her life.

She'd grown up with a succession of step-fathers, her mother constantly trying to find a male figure to replace her absent dad. Then she'd gone to school, where she had universally been the only girl in the math club, chem club, physics club. When at the age of twelve she'd discovered a hitherto unknown talent for gymnastics the boys had started taking even more notice of her. The girls had her down for a geek, a tomboy and (once puberty kicked in) a slut. So Harli had spent almost her entire life in the company of men. She knew how to be just one of the boys, and she knew (most of the time) how to get men to do whatever she wanted. She sometimes wondered whether that had been the original attraction of the Joker: for the first time in her life she had been with a man she couldn't control.

But no, the thing between her and Mr. J. had been more than that: it had been, to quote the Batman at her first trial "an almost operatic affinity." She'd liked that, told Batman so the next time she'd seen him (of course, he'd been hanging upside down over a bubbling pit of fluorescent pink tar in Arkham at the time. Harli doubted whether he'd appreciated the sentiment). When she was with The Joker, she'd seemed to be where she belonged, like she was finally in a country where she knew the language and customs after years of wandering. No wonder she'd been so desperate to hold onto him. With him, for the first time in her life she'd felt complete. Simple. Without him… Without him everything was complicated, and nothing made sense.

She glanced over her shoulder to check on Clark. He offered her his trademark goofy smile, though she was pretty sure that he'd been deep in thought only moments before. She knew how he felt. When you were in love with someone you couldn't have you spent 99.9 of your time navel-gazing.

She was really looking forward to seeing his reaction to this.

"Have you lived here long?" he asked politely as she opened the double lock on her apartment door (in Gotham, her door had had 9 locks, but that was only because she'd been so heavily armed she hadn't seen the point in too much security).

"Nah, only a few days. I left Gotham kinda sudden."

"You weren't on the run from the cops were you?" he asked jokingly.

"No." Not from the cops.  _From her probation officer, her shrink and Bruce Wayne, who for reasons unknown sponsored her release back into the community. But not from the cops._

"So what is it you want to show me?" he asked, trying not to sound suspicious. She smiled; The poor little thing still half thought that she was going to make a move.

"It's in the bathroom, c'mere," she grabbed his sleeve "Just let me turn on the light…" She pulled the chord and the neon light over the washing basin flickered on. "Ta dah!" she said proudly.

Lex Luthor was sitting, bound and gagged, on her toilet pot. He was wearing Superman boxer-shorts, Superman socks and not a lot else except a glacially frosty facial expression.

Immediately Clark tensed up. "Harli, call 911," he began, pushing her behind him.  _Gallantry is absolutely adorable!_  She beamed to herself.

"Relax Clark, he's not going anywhere." She tiptoed over and took his chin in her hand, cooing at Luthor playfully "Who's a big bad puddy cat? Yes you are! Yes you are!"

"Harli, do you know who this person  ** _is_**?"

"Course I know who he is! Everyone in Gotham knows Lex Luthor! He came into town 'bout seven years ago, makin' a big stink about how he was gonna be the top boss." She patted his bald head playfully. "My buddy Ivy dragged him up to the top of Wayne Towers and threatened to throw him off. She had issues about his views on the environment," she explained with a conspiratorial whisper. "Didn't hear much more about him coming in and taking over after that." She shot the prisoner her most beguiling smile. "We do things different down Gotham way."

Clark looked like he was sick. "When? Where? How?"

"Could ya stick with a question Stretch?"

Finally he settled on "Where did you find him?" Clark couldn't seem to tear his eyes off Luthor.

"Hiding out with the Giacomettis. Word was he used to run for them back when he was a kid. I just broke into their penthouse before work today and got him." She laid a soothing hand on Kent's back. "Don't worry, there's nothing to tie you to this. Old man Giacometti will probably thank me for getting Cue-ball here off his hands." Luthor rolled his eyes and muttered something caustic, but gee whiz she couldn't tell what it was through the gag.

Now Kent turned his worried eyes back to her. "Harli, you could be in a lot of trouble. Why on earth did you do this?"

She rolled her eyes and hooked her arm through his. "Clark, I should think that was obvious!" Judging by his horrified expression she would have to explain a bit more. "Clark, you're a great guy. I mean you're sweet, nice manners, good job, you help ladies when they're in trouble and quite frankly if Adam had looked like you then I'm not surprised Eve agreed to leave Eden." Luthor made a yowl of outrage, which they both ignored. "The only thing that's standing in your way with Lois is Superman!" If possible, Clark got even paler. "Now I know Superman helps a lot of people out, but if we're gonna get you two love birds together then Clark, sacrifices are necessary. Ya dig?" She gestured to Luthor. "If I'm gonna do in the Big Blue Boy Scout then I'm gonna need Kryptonite. And who here knows where to get Kryptonite? Lex Luthor!" The logic was simple, from what she could see.

"But, Harli…" for a moment words seemed to fail him. "Harli, you can't just kill Superman. He's, he's…"

"But see, that's why I've got Luthor here. I'm gonna get rid of him too. That way the world will be safe even without the Man of Tomorrow." She bounced back on her heels. "You see,  ** _I care_**."

Luthor made a derisory sound through his gag. "Shut up!" she snapped.

Clearly her boy still needed some convincing. "Clark, do you know what Mr. Luthor here's problem is? Besides brain freeze?" Clark wasn't getting any more convinced. "He's a sociopath. It's not that he's immoral, it's that he's  _amoral._ Mentally and emotionally unable to care about anyone besides himself." She clucked her tongue as she shook her head. "He'll never be redeemed; he doesn't know what it means to care about another human being. Now me, I'm a psychopath. It's not that I can't or don't care about others, it's just that I construct and manifest affection in an inappropriate and occasionally homicidal manner." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "All the shrinks at Arkham said so. It wasn't that I couldn't love, it was that I loved too much." She gestured to her heart with Clark's hand, pushing his onto her chest with more force than he expected. "This here heart is big Clark. And it cares about you." She took his other hand and led him to the sofa. He sat down on it like an automaton. "Now you just put your feet up and wait while I torture Luthor into giving me the location of his Kryptonite stash, okay?" He nodded numbly and she smiled. He gets it! she thought happily. "Go team Clark!" she said brightly, before bouncing back to the bathroom.

_Show-time._

"Now Luthor," she asked, pulling a small razor-blade from the medicine cabinet and settling herself comfortably on his lap "Which are you less attached to, your spleen or your kidney?" His eyes widened in fear. "Or is this gonna be lady's choice, hmm?"

_Yep, definitely liked a challenge…_

 

 

  

 


	5. My Boyfriend's Back And You're Gonna Be In Trouble...

 

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I'll try not to get them dirty…

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**CHAPTER 5: MY BOYFRIEND'S BACK AND YOU'RE GONNA BE IN TROUBLE…**

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How did he manage to get himself into these situations?

How could he not have realized that Harli was a grade-A nut?

Why oh why did Lois have to be right about her?

Clark was trying to shake himself into action. He liked to think of himself as a modern sort of man, not prudish and not easily shocked. He might pretend to be a hick, but he'd never thought he really was one before now. Yet somehow he had managed to end up sitting on a whacko's couch while she tortured his nemesis in order to gain a weapon capable of killing his alter-ego.

This stuff never happened to Wonder Woman.

When he'd seen Luthor, his first instinct had been to pick the man up and drop him from a great height. Not only had he beaten and humiliated him, but he'd endangered Lois and his child, not to mention most of the population of the East Coast. When he'd first seen him, he'd thought that maybe Harli had caught the villain doing something nasty and been over-zealous in her attempts to apprehend him. After all, as yesterday had demonstrated, the young woman was more than capable of taking care of herself. Truth was, Clark had been thinking that she just didn't know her own strength. But that wasn't the truth: that was about as near to the truth as Southampton was to Samara.

Harleen Quinzel was obviously a dangerous woman.

Clark put his head in his hands, trying to think. He didn't want to hurt Harli, she was obviously mentally unhinged. But Luthor did not deserve to be tortured; one person could not be his judge, jury and executioner.  _But what about what he did to Jason, to Lois?_  His mind whispered.  _What about all the people he has hurt and will hurt? Don't they deserve some restitution?_

Deep down Clark knew that some small part of him, the part which had only recently realised that he had a new and very precious family, would like nothing better than to get rid of Lex Luthor and make sure that he could never hurt anyone ever again. But what would he tell Jason when he grew up, if he let Harli do this?  _I wouldn't even deserve to call myself a father, if I let her torture a helpless man_. Society punishes, not individuals; that's the way the system works. And whatever else was going wrong in his life, Clark believed in the system.

He would have to stop her.

Clark forced himself to his feet, fighting off a wave of dizziness and nausea. He hadn't been this upset since… But no, this wasn't mental anguish, or even shock. He belatedly realized that he felt sick, and he hadn't felt this sick since- since he'd gone twelve round with New Krypton and very nearly lost. His vision blurred, and for a second he thought his knees might buckle beneath him. His hands were clenched into fists, and he could feel his heart-beat pounding in his ears. But this was impossible: the only thing which could do this to him was Kryptonite, and Harli hadn't managed to get her hands on any yet. He shouldn't be feeling ill.

_And where on earth was that ticking coming from?_

And then Clark Kent got his second nasty shock of the evening. Suddenly, and without any warning, the door to Harli's apartment simply flew off its hinges, smashing into smithereens. The explosion left a large amount of smoke, and as it cleared Clark could make out the figure of a tall, well-built man in a long grey leather duster and a gas-mask. Harli stumbled out of the bathroom, and Clark noted with relief the lack of blood-spatter on her clothes: she mustn't have gotten very far with Luthor. Maybe, he hoped, she'd even backed out. As if on cue Luthor attempted to run for it, but Harli tripped him with ease and flung him back into the bathroom, where he landed with a painful-sounding thud.

There was a moment of agonizingly tense silence, as Harli stared ashen-faced at the intruder. Clark guessed that she knew him.

The man pulled off his mask to reveal a handsome face. Large, smiling brown eyes regarded the young woman warmly. Long thick brown hair fell to his collar. He was wearing an expensive silk purple shirt and a bottle green jacket under his coat. He looked just like any other young man, though perhaps more flamboyant than most. But there was one thing about him which set him apart, which made Clark's blood freeze.

His smile.

The newcomer sported two vicious-looking scars on each side of his mouth, making his lips seem enormous and shark-like. His "smile," seemed to take up his entire jaw. And despite the beauty of the features, there was something absolutely terrifying about that face, as if it had never truly known pity or remorse.

Clark had thought Lex Luthor the worst kind of monster possible; now he knew better.

Stepping cheerfully over the remains of her front door, the man held up his hand in cheerful greeting. "Hi, Honey!" he yelled. "Daddy's home! And he brought you a little something something!" The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet pouch, and without any further ado he spilled its contents onto the floor. Cut Kryptonite glittered like emeralds under the low lights. Harli was still frozen, as if she had forgotten how to breath, let alone move. The newcomer reached for her, his hand digging into the hair at the back of her neck and nuzzling her cheek. "Jewels for my jewel, baby," he whispered. "I've come home."

"Hello Jack," she whispered back.

 


	6. Always Something There To Remind Me

  
_Disclaimer_ : Not mine, not mine, not mine… Don't sue…

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**CHAPTER 6: ALWAYS SOMETHING THERE TO REMIND ME**

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"How did you find me?" she stammered.

"What do you mean, how did I find you? I could find you anywhere!" Jack smiled. "With loves light wings did I o'er-perch these walls-"

"No, I made sure, I made certain that nobody would find me!" Harli was beginning to babble, and Clark could feel her panic mounting. Had he not been trying not to retch he would have reached for her, tried to get between the pair, because there was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that this was the very boyfriend she had left Gotham to escape. And if a woman like Harli was afraid of him then this person must be a really bad apple.

"I put my ear to the ground, my nose to the wind," Jack laughed. He seemed absolutely unaware of how terrified the young woman looked. "Girl like you gets noticed, doll-face." He was wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her close, his body pressed up against hers from behind. "Word was you were asking about Luthor, asking about Kryptonite. That's what I always loved about you baby: the ambition!" Clark couldn't be sure whether he was whispering into her ear or biting it. "Only in town a week and you're trying to take down the Man of Steel. That's my girl."

"But, but you left me. In Arkham, you left me." She pushed herself free. "You left me to die!"

"But darlin', that was before I realised how much you meant to me!" He kneeled down in front of her, one hand playfully over his heart. "I was a bad boy, I strayed: I admit it! But you an' me, baby: there aint nothing like you and me, and we both know it."

"Where did you get the Kryptonite?" she asked quietly, wincing as if afraid of the answer.

"I found it beside a charming little shop-girl at the Metropolis Natural History Museum." He looked down, smiling, appearing bashful. Clark felt a wave of nausea which had nothing to do with the meteor rocks. "You might say I swept her off her feet."

"Will she live?" Harli asked in that same tiny, deadened voice.

Jack reached for her cheek, his thumb caressing her lip: "Jesus wanted her for a sunbeam, sweetness."

Harli's eyes finally met Clark's with a look of pure contrition.

And with that the newcomer noticed him.

"Who have we here?" Harli's eyes kept flicking backwards and forwards between the two in the same way Jimmy's did when Lois and Perry were about to go head to head. "Who's the rube, peaches?"

"Just a neighbour, he was over asking me to give a donation to the Salvation Army-"  _even Clark thought that excuse sounded lame_ \- "He can just go, he won't say anything, he's a deaf mute-"  _I'm a deaf mute now?_ "Just please, baby, I don't want any trouble-"

"Why's he look so sick? And why aint he talking?"

"Hello, didn't you hear the words "deaf mute"?"  _Apparently the temper really was the last thing to go._

"She likes doin' that, have you noticed it buddy?" Jack was smiling a conspiratory, boys-only kinda smile. "Always with the yammering, but whatcha gonna do? Oh yeah,  _this_." In one swift motion he slammed Harli's head into the coffee table. She collapsed, blood pouring down her forehead and nose. As if nothing had happened Jack pulled her back upwards, forcing her to stand and kissing her tenderly on the mouth. Clark made a move for the guy, tried to tackle him, but the effect of that much refined Kryptonite (and he knew it was refined because of the way it was cut) had had an effect. His attack was sloppy and Harli crumbled backwards, forcing herself out of the way as the newcomer kneed Clark viciously in the stomach. One strong punch to the jaw and he was down, the man raining blow after blow on him.

For a moment he felt like he'd stepped back in time, back to New Krypton.  _Or maybe he'd never left it and the last few weeks had been an hallucination, a way for the brain to stave off death…_

From far away he could hear Harli screaming, but he couldn't even feel the blows anymore. He was slipping into a blessed darkness, and the only thing he could think was  _I wish I'd told Lois, I wish I'd told Lois my secret…_

Then there was only blackness.

 


	7. Luck Be A Lady

  
_Disclaimer_ : Not mine, not mine, not mine… Don't sue…   


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**CHAPTER 7: LUCK BE A LADY**

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His first conscious thought upon waking was  _Lana Lang owes me $200_. The night before he'd left Smallville for Metro U, she'd bet him that before he came home he'd end up chained to a bed with a beautiful woman. One out of two isn't bad, he mused, holding up his wrist, which was awkwardly chained through the bars of the shower to Harli's. Beside them Luthor was sitting, still chained to the toilet pot, though his gag had been removed. His expression was no less frosty, probably due to the fact that of the three of them he was the only one who looked  _completely_  ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, Clark," Harli whispered. "I didn't think he'd get out. When he went into Arkham, he promised not to try and escape."

"And you  ** _believed_**  him?" Luthor snapped.

She glared. "So long as I wasn't there he was willing to stay. Said it was the only place he felt safe."

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"Nothing the Batman, Poison Ivy and most of the Gotham PD didn't want to do to him instead!" She tugged slightly on the chain, apparently testing it for weaknesses. "Don't you worry Clark; I'm gonna get you out of this. Team Clark will endure!" She smiled that hopeful little smile that had got him inside the Turkish coffee shop. If only he'd known then what he knew now…

"'Team Clark,'?" Luthor inquired sarcastically.

"Yeah, Team Clark. Ya got a problem with that, baldy?"

"Does Miss Lane know that you faint at the first sign of trouble, Kent?" he snickered. Clark ignored him: he was too comfortable with himself to let this brand of adolescent teasing get to him.

_Besides, **he**  was invulnerable._

"Why don't you kiss my ass?" Harli snapped.

"Nice come back, very classy."

"Say that again-"

"AND YOU'LL WHAT?" Lex roared. "What could  _you_ possibly do to  _me_?"

There was a moment's silence as Harli fixed Lex with the smuggest smile in three counties. "Oh Joker baby?" she called through the door. "I got something to tell you." All the colour (and the smugness) left Lex's face as Jack unlocked the door and poked his head in. Harli pouted like a baby, and for some reason it left a bad taste in Clark's mouth. _This isn't who you are Harli_ , he thought to himself, though how he knew that he couldn't explain.  _This isn't who you want to be._

"You finally ready to confess, baby?" He was hunkered down in front of her, stroking her cheek as if he were petting a dog.

"Yeah, I'm ready to confess, baby."

Lex looked like he was about to swallow his tongue, and the tiny, mean part of Clark which he never admitted to or looked at felt a little surge of amusement. Of course he's defend Lex if things got out of hand (he was feeling better already) but what was the harm in letting him stew?

"The bald dude, he said that he could help me find you," she began, batting her eyelashes, letting her voice falter. Clark couldn't believe The Joker actually  _liked_  it when she did this. "And then he took me to his apartment, and he gave me this drink, and then," the lower lip began to wobble like crazy "and then everything went really black." Her huge brown eyes widened. "I swear sweetie, I was thinking about you the whole time."

"And the rube?" He glanced appraisingly at Clark.

"Next door neighbour, like I said. You don't need to worry, he has a boyfriend." The Joker nodded sagely. "He saw your picture and pointed out how I should go back to you. He said that the bald dude was nothing but trouble." Clark was astounded that she could still talk through that wobbling lip. When The Joker looked away for a second she gave him a ridiculously cheerful thumbs-up sign. "I can't believe I fell for his tricks; I feel like such a fool!"

Both Clark and Lex rolled their eyes at the same time.

"Am I forgiven?" Harli asked timidly.

The longest moment of silence Clark had ever experienced stretched out.

"Yeah, course you are darlin'!" The Joker grinned.

"Oh Mr. J.!" Harli gushed, throwing herself into Jack's arms (and simultaneously yanking Clark forward by the wrist). She grabbed his face and kissed him long and hard. Clark tried to look away politely; Luthor snorted derisorily. Hands began to roam; another few minutes and Clark felt sure something would either be removed or inserted ( _Oh my, I shouldn't have thought that!_ ). Both he and Luthor were trying to look anywhere but at the courting couple.

Which is why they didn't notice Harli's hands circle around Jack's waist, caressing his back and sneaking down towards the waist-band of his pants.

It was also why the sound of his gun being cocked came as such a surprise.

Both men turned around to find the Joker kneeling, gun-barrel flush against his temple, on the floor. "Down boy," Harli said steadily. Using the gun she forced him down to the floor. "Heel."

Jack was furious. "You lyin' little-!"

Finally Clark judged he could intervene. "You shouldn't use language like that around a lady, son." Harli was patting down The Joker's pockets, looking for the keys to the chain. Within a moment she'd found them and she threw them to Clark, who unlocked himself. He did not, however, unlock Luthor. "Didn't your mom ever teach you that?"

" _My_  mom did," Harli volunteered.

"I'm gonna kill you for this, you two-faced, whorin' little-"

Clark normally wouldn't have risked it in front of Luthor, but he couldn't help himself. He yanked The Joker to his feet and picked him up by the lapels of his suit. Turned out, Clark Matthew Kent was at least three inches taller than The Clown Prince of Crime. Jack immediately shut up.

"And they say size doesn't matter!" Harli cooed.

Despite their differences over the course of the night, Clark shot her a smile. "I have a friend who can fly," Clark said steadily, eye to eye with the Joker. "You ever touch Harli again, and you will get to meet him."

"That don't bother me!" Jack's bravado, like Harli's temper, was apparently the last thing to go.

"Well then this should," said a new voice. "You try this again Napier, and I'll let her into Arkham for conjugal visits."

Even Luthor turned to look at the newcomer.

"Bruce!" Harli breathed. And then "What the hell are you doing here?"

 


	8. I Say A Little Prayer For You

_Disclaimer:_  Me no profit, you no sue, okay?

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**CHAPTER 8: I SAY A LITTLE PRAYER FOR YOU**

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"Well hello to you too, Harli," the newcomer smirked. In the doorway of the bathroom stood a tall, angular young man with a mass of messy short brown hair. He was wearing an extremely expensive looking suit, a pure wool over-coat and a thin-lipped smile. He strolled nonchalantly forward, picking his way over the Joker's body to examine Clark and Luthor. The now subdued Jack Napier shot him a look of deepest loathing, which he cheerfully ignored. "Thought you were going to discuss any long-term plans with me before you left the city, Harleen?"

She shrugged, defensive. "Job came up, what was I supposed to do?"

"Tell someone?" His smile dropped. "I've been worried sick." He gestured to the Joker with his toe. "Ivy got in touch with me and raised the alarm once Romeo here broke out. There was no answer at your apartment, nobody had seen you in days. I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere."  _I will not look sorry, I will not look sorry_ she chanted to herself.  _And no, he does **not**  look hot in that suit_.

But wait- "Ivy got in touch with  _you_? Ivy hates you. She loathes and despises you. She used to throw knives at that cover of you from Forbes-"

"I get the point, Harli!"

"And, and…" her voice suddenly became very small. "She hates me now. She wouldn't talk to me because stupid Batman saved my life-"

"She was mad at you, but not enough to let you fall back into your old habits with Captain Dumb-Ass here. She was afraid you two would get all lovey-dovey and BOOM! Back to Arkham for the pair of you."

"Flair for the dramatic much, Brucie?" she scoffed. But despite herself, Harli was grinning.  _There are worse people to have lookin' for you than Bruce Wayne…_ "You know damn well that I'd never take his cheatin', lyin' ass back!" She winced. "Sorry for the profanity, Clark."

"Don't mention it," Clark shrugged, nonplussed.

"Didn't look like you were so against a reconciliation five minutes ago," Luthor sniggered.

"Well rough and unnecessary affection is something you're gonna see an awful lot more of where you're goin', chrome-dome!" she snapped back. Wayne chuckled, and she grinned more widely at him. "Come on Bruce, I meant what I said. I want to turn over a new leaf. I've even made a new friend." She gestured to Clark, who stood up and nodded perfunctorily to Wayne. "He aint got a criminal record or nothing." She nodded cheerfully. "New and leafy, that's Clark!"

"Good to see you again, Kent. It's been a while. You still write with that pain in the ass Lane?" Wayne asked as he shook Clark's hand. The two men eyed each other, and Harli felt an edge enter the conversation. Something more than she knew about was going on here.

Clark merely nodded. "I still work with Lois."

"Wait, you two know each other?"  _Now isn't that a turn up for the books_ , she thought.  _Two men with absolutely nothing in common just happen to know each other…_ Maybe they know one another through mutual acquaintances, or maybe they've met at the opera, or maybe… Maybe they share a tailor? And that's when the penny dropped. She'd been slightly suspicious when she'd seen how sick Clark got around the Kryptonite, but she'd brushed it off: Jack made a lot of guys sweat. Still she'd hidden it away, just to be safe. She'd been suspicious of Brucie Boy and his secrets for a lot longer than that (the Joker had once fractured her jaw because she wouldn't stop yammering on about how Batman could actually be Bruce Wayne). And Kent did always seem to disappear just when Superman showed up; all those Daily Planet articles confirmed that. And there was just the sheer coolness of Clark, which she couldn't reconcile with this dufus he turned into when Lois was around.  _Takes a kidder to know a kidder,_ she thought to herself. Connect the dots and they spelled "DUH," far as she could tell. Turns out Batman wasn't the only one with an alter-ego…

That poor guy, she thought to herself.  _And you thought Cupid screwed you over?_  Clark was in love with Lois, Lois was in love with Superman (she'd read the articles, and more importantly she'd read between the lines) and she wasn't rightly sure where Lois' kid fit into this (yes she'd known she had one, but she'd figured Clark would make a great dad) but she was sure it wasn't going to end up like an episode of The Waltons. She looked at her new friend with pity.  _How annoying must it be to be jealous of yourself?_

"Well all this is fascinating," Luthor broke in, "But would you be a dear and untie me hon'? Since this is unlawful detention and all."

"In Gotham I could shoot you for trying to break in," Harli sniffed.

"No, you can do that here too," Bruce piped up. Clark nodded in agreement. "Pretty young woman finds a creepy older guy breaking in, she can shoot him three ways till Sunday."

"But I don't recommend it," Clark put in.

"Just untie me!" Luthor snapped.

"I'd get used to sayin' that where you're going," Harli snickered.

"You too!"

"Nah-huh! Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am no-"

"You're gonna be playin' a harp where you're going, sweetness!" The Joker cocked his discarded gun and placed it flush against Bruce's temple. While the group's attention was elsewhere The Joker had cunningly managed to pick the lock on his cuffs and sneak free. He was glaring at Harli, grinning manically. He had one hand twisted around Bruce's throat.

Neither super-hero made a move, because they were obviously terrified to reveal themselves in front of her and Luthor.

_Now that's what I call ironic_ , she thought to herself.

"Come here, Harleen," the Joker muttered. She felt her blood run cold, and she shook her head. She wasn't frightened of him exactly, she told herself. She was frightened of what he made her capable of, of what he made her enjoy. She didn't want to back-slide, not now.  _If you're planning on some kind of escape Brucie,_ she thought to herself, her gaze boring into the billionaire's,  _then this would be the moment._ Nothing happened, the silence stretched out.  _Come on Bruce, the amount of times I've tried to kill you and **now**  you decide to go all Que Sera Sera on me? _The silence grew tenser. She wondered whether Clark had a plan, but she couldn't seem to pull her gaze from Bruce's.

"You wanna repaint that wall with a charming new colour called "hint of dead playboy"?" Jack taunted. His finger squeezed on the trigger-

"NO!" she yelled. She just had time to process the look of jealous disgust which swept his features before she charged him. Bruce elbowed him in the stomach and rolled away, taking the gun with him. Luthor took this opportunity to make for the door but she took no notice; Clark would deal with him. Instead she followed Jack, scrambling to overcome his slight head start.

He was heading for the roof.

_Why is it **always**  the roof with you! _She wailed to herself as she took the stairs two at a time. He could still be armed, some of those wonderful toys she'd helped him invent might soon be heading her way. But it seemed not; instead, with an annoying lack of originality, it seemed he was once again running to catch a ride.

_He really did think he'd just show up here, click his fingers and I'd fall back in line, didn't he?_

_Boys are stupid. And they smell._

She made it to the roof, kicking open the door he'd slammed behind him, to find a helicopter waiting to take him away from all this. The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming. She could see him running for a rope ladder which the helpful henchman in the chopper had lowered. No normal human could have caught him, he had too much of a head start.

Good thing she wasn't normal then.

Screw this, she thought to herself, and stopped. Taking a deep breath, she swung herself forward and began to somersault towards her beloved ex. With one final push she sprang over his head to land in front of him, a triumphant grin on her face.

_Gotham, dix pointes._

Without even stopping he swung his fist up and socked her right across the face. She felt her neck give a sickening crick, and for a moment she felt dizzy, so she did the only logical thing she could do: she slammed her knee into his crotch. If his face wasn't pale before then it was now. He jumped away from her, trying to get distance. Fine with her, more room to manoeuvre that way. She set herself off, spinning from foot to foot like a Cossack dancer, and slammed both feet into his head one after the other with each rotation. Finally she twisted both feet around his throat, her weight on one arm. Still in that position she wrapped his neck between her ankles and sent him spinning skyward. He landed three feet away and crumpled. His breathing was ragged, his reactions were getting slower.

There was a reason he was more scared of her than of the Batman.

She somersaulted back towards him, swinging herself around a lamp pole like a demented version of Gene Kelly, and caught him square in the chest. He got back up and spit out one of his teeth, eyeing her hungrily. She stopped, squaring up to him (all 5" 1' of her). He darted left, then right, feinting, trying to get her off balance.

"What is this, Harli?" he whispered softly, seductively. "What is this? Don't you want to play?"

Something within her did. Something inside her wanted to go back to the Land of the Joker, where she understood the language and everything made sense. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up towards the heavens, willing away the tears which had suddenly welled up in her eyes. Why oh why couldn't he just leave her alone? It felt like a fist was squeezing her heart; it had felt that way every day since they'd been apart. Her head dropped to her chest, her fingers bunching into knots beneath her chin.

It was raining, thunder and lightning streaking the sky.

He was getting closer. Closer to normal, closer to simple, closer to safe.

She forced her eyes open and stared down at her hands, and that was when she noticed it. The white makeup she'd worn every day since she'd met him, since she'd become the Harlequin, was streaking off her. This skin, this mask she'd put on was being washed away, and underneath she could see herself for perhaps the first time in years. Fragile and human and shivering, this was her, this was who and what she was.

The rest was a mask. The rest was a costume. The rest was nothing but an old, bad habit.

The rest was the Harlequin, about as much who she really was as that stutter and slump were really Clark Kent.

Finally she got it.

She straightened up, her eyes serious and sad. "This is letting go," she whispered. She put her hand out to stop him, the palm on his chest, her fingers splayed. She could see fear, incomprehension, in his eyes.

"No!" he yelled. "No!" He took her by surprise, grabbing her wrist. She slugged him, determined to end this, the blow causing him to spin on his heel. As he lost his balance he smacked his elbow into her (by accident rather than design). She tried to grab the edge of the roof as she fell but it slipped through her fingers, and then, then-

Then she was flying.

 


	9. Come Fly With Me

 

_Disclaimer_ : No profit, no litigation, no sugar, no carbs... wait, that thought started out somewhere else...

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: COME FLY WITH ME**

* * *

 

"You rock!"

That was the first thing she said when he caught her. Most people went with "Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god!" but not Miss Quinzel. She grinned brightly at him, head tilted backwards so her forehead was at his chin.

"Oh, and sorry 'bout the whole plot-to-kill-ya thing, my bad," was the next gem she came out with.

Perhaps it was delayed shock on his part, Clark mused, but she was actually, well actually kind of adorable. In a demented sort of way. And she'd tried to save Bruce, which proved to him that there was hope for her yet. Both he and Bruce had gone after Luthor; despite his offer to intervene in the lovers' quarrel Wayne had assured him that the only person who could bring Jack Napier back with a minimum loss of life and limb was Harli.

"And also, she just needs to get some stuff off her chest, y'know?"

It was this statement, more than anything else, which had left Clark with the unshakeable feeling that Bruce and Harli had, well, a thing. Or something like a thing. As much of a thing as people who feel the need to dress up in rubber and try to kill each other could ever have. At least they had being reasonably crazy in common.

Wisely, however, he remembered his mother's advice about personal space and kept this opinion to himself.

The two had headed after Luthor, Bruce still in his street clothes since it might seem kind of suspicious if Batman just happened to show up in Metropolis. They caught him swearing as a small gang of street kids threw stones at him while he tried to boost a car.

"Now do you see why Metropolis criminals don't scare me?" Bruce had asked smugly as Luthor danced, trying to avoid getting hit and cursing so loudly Clark was sure they could hear him in Shadyside. Clark avoided pointing out that if Luthor found out the names or addresses of any of those kids he'd have them and their entire family burned alive as a petty act of revenge. Between the two of them, even without their costumes they managed to contain him, mainly because Bruce took the easy option and knocked him unconscious.

And then they heard a scream from above. "Harli-" Clark started.

"She's fine," Bruce grinned lazily, "she's just-"

"-Airborne," Clark finished. Without another word he began tugging at his shirt and took off, safe in the knowledge that Luthor couldn't see him and get suspicious. Behind him he heard Bruce's sharp intake of breath, sensed his companion's frustration that he couldn't help with this. The man at least had the sense to make himself useful, pulling out his cell-phone to call the Metro PD while Clark took off.  _Yup_ , he thought,  _they definitely have a thing_. He arched gracefully upwards in the now driving rain, hoping it wasn't too late…

It wasn't.

There was a trick to catching people who were falling like that without hurting them. Had taken ages practicing on Lana to get it. You broke their fall a little bit, let your arms sink a fraction of a millimetre when you made contact so you didn't hurt them or shatter any bones. He kept thinking of how fragile Harli looked, how… little. Thus he felt a surge of relief when she landed in his arms, her face streaked with rain and her eyes wide with fright.

"I have you Miss," he said reassuringly, ignoring the apology.

"I should frickin' hope so!" she snapped. "Two super-heroes in my apartment, one of you was sure as hell gonna save me!"

He coughed, trying to cover his panic. "Excuse me, Miss?"

She twisted around to look him straight in the eye. "I know it's you Clark. I'm not a idiot, you know!"

"You must be mistaken, miss-"

"I saw you around the Kryptonite, Clark. That's why I put it away. The pipes in the laundry room are lead lined. Or didn't you wonder why you felt better?" Again she batted her eye-lashes, smiling slightly. The smile wasn't full though; she still looked a little shaky. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I've never told on Bruce, have I?" She frowned. "Well, not recently, anyway."

"But, but-"

She put her little hand over his mouth. She was cutting off his air a bit. "No buts, no "swells," no "golly you're crazy Harli." The least you can do is not insult my intelligence." She frowned in thought, wrinkling her nose in that bunny-like fashion. "Oh, and not, like, hurt me for the whole plot to kill ya thing, because really you should be focussing on the fact that I was trying to do you a favour."

_What on earth was he supposed to do with this turn of events?_

"Oh, and no plots to try and convince me you're not him, cos I won't stand for it, ya hear?"

_Should I be worried that I like it now she's being bossy?_  Reminds me of Lois. And Lana. And my mom.

_Hmmm. Probably should explore that some day._

Silence descended, as Clark tried to think of something to say. He could see that denial probably wouldn't work, so he would have to come up with something else. He could smile and say she was crazy, but she'd already told him that wouldn't work either. The last thing he should do right now was patronise her. Maybe he should ask Bruce- Bruce! Wait, he suddenly thought, She knew about Bruce? The Joker's girlfriend knows Bruce Wayne's secret and he's still walking around and talking? He hadn't even realised how huge the repercussions of this could be. She knew about Bruce.

_They must have a thing._

By this time he'd landed, to find Wayne pacing in front of the building. As soon as his boots touched the ground the other man pulled off his heavy coat and draped it over Harli's shivering form, rubbing down her arms as he did so. He didn't ask permission and she didn't protest. For once, it seemed that Bruce wasn't playing his (in Clark's opinion slightly sleazy) alter-ego. He doubted Harli would've been impressed with "billionaire playboy," Bruce Wayne anyway. "Are you alright?" he heard the other man ask her softly, his back to Clark. As if he wouldn't be able to hear them!

"Yeah, I'm fine Bruce." She sneezed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

He shook his head, smiling warmly. It was a good thing, Clark mused, that they never behaved this way around Arkham. Although, suddenly The Joker's hatred of Wayne made more sense. Clark was overcome with a mental image of Bruce grinning smugly and crooning "Your girl friend liiiikes me, your girl friend liiiikes me!" just like Jimmy did when he'd had too much beer at the office Christmas Party. "The Joker's still unconscious; they're flying in a containment team from Gotham right now," he heard Wayne continue. The man was clucking over Harli like a mother hen. You'd think she hadn't just single-handedly taken down Lex Luthor, The Joker and figured out the secret identities of two super-heroes in one night. "And Luthor's in that squad car over there," he gestured to the corner, where the now soaking (still underwear-clad) criminal genius was glaring at the three of them through his cop car's window.

Harli blew him a kiss, and Clark forced himself not to laugh out loud.

"Harli," Bruce continued, his voice low and earnest. "The cops have a few questions for you and they want you to come down to the station. Will you do it?" He was peering at her closely, wondering whether she would agree. Clark couldn't see what the problem was: it never even occurred to him that she wouldn't cooperate.

_Why? Because she'd always been such a law-abiding citizen, hmm?_

The young woman looked up at Wayne like he was crazy. "Of course I'll go down to the station. They'll need to check me out for trace evidence and take a statement. I  _am_ familiar with procedure Brucie."

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you'd know what it was like on this side things, Quinzel," he quipped.

Clark was astonished to see a flash of hurt cross her face. Bruce must have seen it too, because immediately he tried to say something nice, but she stepped back towards Clark. "Do they take statements from you too, Big Blue?" she asked him bluntly.

"Always. Doesn't do to skimp on procedure."

She nodded. "Then how about you give a girl a lift to the cop shop?"

"I can take you-" Bruce began.

"Nah," she interrupted, clearly mad and trying to sound like she wasn't "I think the Boy Scout here's got it. That right, stretch?"

Clark really wished he could hear someone getting mugged right about now, but the city was eerily empty. Maybe the presence of The Joker had scared the career criminals off the streets for the night. For maybe the thousandth time in his life he wished he had a knack for lying, but he didn't. The gift of verbal invention always seemed to fail him when it was actually important.

Superman, Defender of Metropolis, Last Son of Krypton, for the first time in a long time felt whipped. "Sure I can," he said helplessly.

And then they were off.

 

 

 

  

 


	10. How Long Has This Been Going On?

 

_Disclaimer_ : No profit, no litigation, no sugar, no carbs... wait, that thought started out somewhere else...

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: COME FLY WITH ME**

* * *

 

"You rock!"

That was the first thing she said when he caught her. Most people went with "Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god!" but not Miss Quinzel. She grinned brightly at him, head tilted backwards so her forehead was at his chin.

"Oh, and sorry 'bout the whole plot-to-kill-ya thing, my bad," was the next gem she came out with.

Perhaps it was delayed shock on his part, Clark mused, but she was actually, well actually kind of adorable. In a demented sort of way. And she'd tried to save Bruce, which proved to him that there was hope for her yet. Both he and Bruce had gone after Luthor; despite his offer to intervene in the lovers' quarrel Wayne had assured him that the only person who could bring Jack Napier back with a minimum loss of life and limb was Harli.

"And also, she just needs to get some stuff off her chest, y'know?"

It was this statement, more than anything else, which had left Clark with the unshakeable feeling that Bruce and Harli had, well, a thing. Or something like a thing. As much of a thing as people who feel the need to dress up in rubber and try to kill each other could ever have. At least they had being reasonably crazy in common.

Wisely, however, he remembered his mother's advice about personal space and kept this opinion to himself.

The two had headed after Luthor, Bruce still in his street clothes since it might seem kind of suspicious if Batman just happened to show up in Metropolis. They caught him swearing as a small gang of street kids threw stones at him while he tried to boost a car.

"Now do you see why Metropolis criminals don't scare me?" Bruce had asked smugly as Luthor danced, trying to avoid getting hit and cursing so loudly Clark was sure they could hear him in Shadyside. Clark avoided pointing out that if Luthor found out the names or addresses of any of those kids he'd have them and their entire family burned alive as a petty act of revenge. Between the two of them, even without their costumes they managed to contain him, mainly because Bruce took the easy option and knocked him unconscious.

And then they heard a scream from above. "Harli-" Clark started.

"She's fine," Bruce grinned lazily, "she's just-"

"-Airborne," Clark finished. Without another word he began tugging at his shirt and took off, safe in the knowledge that Luthor couldn't see him and get suspicious. Behind him he heard Bruce's sharp intake of breath, sensed his companion's frustration that he couldn't help with this. The man at least had the sense to make himself useful, pulling out his cell-phone to call the Metro PD while Clark took off.  _Yup_ , he thought,  _they definitely have a thing_. He arched gracefully upwards in the now driving rain, hoping it wasn't too late…

It wasn't.

There was a trick to catching people who were falling like that without hurting them. Had taken ages practicing on Lana to get it. You broke their fall a little bit, let your arms sink a fraction of a millimetre when you made contact so you didn't hurt them or shatter any bones. He kept thinking of how fragile Harli looked, how… little. Thus he felt a surge of relief when she landed in his arms, her face streaked with rain and her eyes wide with fright.

"I have you Miss," he said reassuringly, ignoring the apology.

"I should frickin' hope so!" she snapped. "Two super-heroes in my apartment, one of you was sure as hell gonna save me!"

He coughed, trying to cover his panic. "Excuse me, Miss?"

She twisted around to look him straight in the eye. "I know it's you Clark. I'm not a idiot, you know!"

"You must be mistaken, miss-"

"I saw you around the Kryptonite, Clark. That's why I put it away. The pipes in the laundry room are lead lined. Or didn't you wonder why you felt better?" Again she batted her eye-lashes, smiling slightly. The smile wasn't full though; she still looked a little shaky. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I've never told on Bruce, have I?" She frowned. "Well, not recently, anyway."

"But, but-"

She put her little hand over his mouth. She was cutting off his air a bit. "No buts, no "swells," no "golly you're crazy Harli." The least you can do is not insult my intelligence." She frowned in thought, wrinkling her nose in that bunny-like fashion. "Oh, and not, like, hurt me for the whole plot to kill ya thing, because really you should be focussing on the fact that I was trying to do you a favour."

_What on earth was he supposed to do with this turn of events?_

"Oh, and no plots to try and convince me you're not him, cos I won't stand for it, ya hear?"

_Should I be worried that I like it now she's being bossy?_  Reminds me of Lois. And Lana. And my mom.

_Hmmm. Probably should explore that some day._

Silence descended, as Clark tried to think of something to say. He could see that denial probably wouldn't work, so he would have to come up with something else. He could smile and say she was crazy, but she'd already told him that wouldn't work either. The last thing he should do right now was patronise her. Maybe he should ask Bruce- Bruce! Wait, he suddenly thought, She knew about Bruce? The Joker's girlfriend knows Bruce Wayne's secret and he's still walking around and talking? He hadn't even realised how huge the repercussions of this could be. She knew about Bruce.

_They must have a thing._

By this time he'd landed, to find Wayne pacing in front of the building. As soon as his boots touched the ground the other man pulled off his heavy coat and draped it over Harli's shivering form, rubbing down her arms as he did so. He didn't ask permission and she didn't protest. For once, it seemed that Bruce wasn't playing his (in Clark's opinion slightly sleazy) alter-ego. He doubted Harli would've been impressed with "billionaire playboy," Bruce Wayne anyway. "Are you alright?" he heard the other man ask her softly, his back to Clark. As if he wouldn't be able to hear them!

"Yeah, I'm fine Bruce." She sneezed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

He shook his head, smiling warmly. It was a good thing, Clark mused, that they never behaved this way around Arkham. Although, suddenly The Joker's hatred of Wayne made more sense. Clark was overcome with a mental image of Bruce grinning smugly and crooning "Your girl friend liiiikes me, your girl friend liiiikes me!" just like Jimmy did when he'd had too much beer at the office Christmas Party. "The Joker's still unconscious; they're flying in a containment team from Gotham right now," he heard Wayne continue. The man was clucking over Harli like a mother hen. You'd think she hadn't just single-handedly taken down Lex Luthor, The Joker and figured out the secret identities of two super-heroes in one night. "And Luthor's in that squad car over there," he gestured to the corner, where the now soaking (still underwear-clad) criminal genius was glaring at the three of them through his cop car's window.

Harli blew him a kiss, and Clark forced himself not to laugh out loud.

"Harli," Bruce continued, his voice low and earnest. "The cops have a few questions for you and they want you to come down to the station. Will you do it?" He was peering at her closely, wondering whether she would agree. Clark couldn't see what the problem was: it never even occurred to him that she wouldn't cooperate.

_Why? Because she'd always been such a law-abiding citizen, hmm?_

The young woman looked up at Wayne like he was crazy. "Of course I'll go down to the station. They'll need to check me out for trace evidence and take a statement. I  _am_ familiar with procedure Brucie."

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you'd know what it was like on this side things, Quinzel," he quipped.

Clark was astonished to see a flash of hurt cross her face. Bruce must have seen it too, because immediately he tried to say something nice, but she stepped back towards Clark. "Do they take statements from you too, Big Blue?" she asked him bluntly.

"Always. Doesn't do to skimp on procedure."

She nodded. "Then how about you give a girl a lift to the cop shop?"

"I can take you-" Bruce began.

"Nah," she interrupted, clearly mad and trying to sound like she wasn't "I think the Boy Scout here's got it. That right, stretch?"

Clark really wished he could hear someone getting mugged right about now, but the city was eerily empty. Maybe the presence of The Joker had scared the career criminals off the streets for the night. For maybe the thousandth time in his life he wished he had a knack for lying, but he didn't. The gift of verbal invention always seemed to fail him when it was actually important.

Superman, Defender of Metropolis, Last Son of Krypton, for the first time in a long time felt whipped. "Sure I can," he said helplessly.

And then they were off.

 


	11. Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps...

  _Disclaimer_ : No copyright infringement is intended. Only certain super-heroes' dignities were harmed in the making of this fanfic. And this is the last chapter! I'm wiping away a tear as I write...

* * *

**CHAPTER 11: PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS…**

* * *

 

_Three Days Later_

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce asked quietly.

"Of course I'm sure." Jason White was distracting her, begging "Auntie Harli," to give him another Superman ride, which basically meant laying on her back on the floor and whooshing the little boy through the air on her hands and knees. The Daily Planet bull-pen was staring in fascination as the one-time pin-up of Gotham's Most Wanted tickled, giggled and played with someone about a quarter of her age. She'd really taken to the little boy, and (more worryingly, for his mother) the little one had taken to her. The news crew were having trouble imagining her doing any of the things she'd supposedly gotten up to with The Joker, and if anything Jimmy's crush on her was worse.

"But Belle Reve is a fine hospital," Bruce continued, still sotto voce. "I could ask them to transfer you somewhere," he glanced pointedly over at Clark, who pretended not to notice "Where you'd be happy."

"I'd be happy in Gotham." She smiled that pixie-like little grin of hers and tried her best to look reassuring. "Besides, Metropolis is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here. Everyone's so friendly: it's really starting to creep me out." Mentally Clark heaved a sigh of relief. The last three days, since the medication had started to kick in, had introduced him to a far calmer, less manic Harli but he still wasn't sure he'd want her around all the time. Although, she certainly did seem to make his painfully enthralling life even more interesting. And something told him she could use a friend, since whatever Bruce Wayne wanted to tell himself they were, friends most certainly did not cover it.

"But-"

"Don't you want me to come back?" she asked in exasperation.

He paused, and Clark could tell the next sentence was difficult for Bruce. "I want you to be happy," he said eventually. "And I don't see that happening in Gotham, and especially not in Arkham."

"But I'm not going back to Arkham, Clark has seen to that. Haven't I just given an interview to a fine metropolitan newspaper about how I foiled not one but two super-villains in the course of one evening? And I didn't even mention how I talked some sense into the Man of Steel. Come on Brucie, according to everyone at the moment I rock! Besides," she continued, picking Jason up and tickling his tummy (eliciting squeals of laughter and even a smile from Lois) "they couldn't put me back into Arkham, for my own safety."

"What's an Arkham?" Jason asked.

"It's a place where they put you when you've done really bad-" she began.

"It's a place where they put you when you get sick," Clark interrupted, speaking over her. "So that you can get better and don't hurt yourself." He picked the boy up and put him on his shoulders, feeling the familiar bittersweet thrill of spending time with someone he would always love and always watch from afar.  _He takes after is mom that way_ , Clark mused.

"Did you get sick?" the boy asked her, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I got sick." She smiled sadly to herself, "And I did some very dumb things."

"Didn't your mommy and daddy try to help you?"

"My daddy died when I was very little, littler than you." Bruce's eyes widened. She mustn't tell people that very often, Clark realised. "And my mommy, and the people who took care of me after that tried to make me better but they couldn't."

The child frowned. "Why not?"

"The sickness I had, only I could make myself better. With a little help from some really cool people." She smiled fondly at Clark.

"Did Mr. Clark help you get better?"

Everyone laughed at that. "Yeah, Mr. Clark did, in his own way."

"I helped too," Bruce pointed out, straightening up so that he didn't look quite so short around Kent.

"Yeah, you did. You and Ivy, and the Batman."

The billionaire shook his head. "Never thought I'd live in a world where Poison Ivy would be a good influence on you."

"Why not? We live in a world where a man can fly."

"Batman can fly too."

She snorted with laughter. "Please! Superman  _flies_. You can tell when he has a hold on you; it's all natural and graceful and controlled. Feels like he's doing what he was born to do." She leaned conspiratorially towards Richard White. "I should know, I've flown with them both. How many dames can say that? But Batman, it's different: it's terrifying, and dizzy, and your heart's in your mouth the whole time. It's not really flying at all: it's more like picking a fight with gravity…"

Clark tried very hard not to laugh at Bruce's outraged expression. "So that's what that's about, is it?" he asked, gesturing snippily to the black Superman t-shirt Harli had worn into the interview.

Lois, Richard, even Jimmy, were snickering. Clark continued to swirl with Jason, earning more whooping laughter. He was glad the boy didn't hear Harli's whispered "If it makes you feel any better I'm wearing Batman underwear." He doubted Lois would be happy with her son asking what precisely Harli had meant. "Don't get me wrong," the young woman continued aloud "I got a lot of respect for the Batman. I mean, he's saved my life. And even before that he was always what you'd call a worthy adversary." Bruce harrumphed, apparently unplacated. "And it's hard not to be impressed, he's quite a man. And there's just something about the new cowl that really brings out the gold flecks in his eyes."  _Here we go again_ , Clark thought. "Something about the shape of the eye-holes, you can really see how long his eyelashes are. And they're totally long for a man, but in a butch way."

Bruce perked up at this. "You like that, do you?"

"Yeah, totally. I mean, one of the only good things about getting caught was when he'd bring me in." She didn't apparently notice the office growing quieter. Clark made ever louder plane noises to keep Jason distracted. "He'd be all gruff, but you know, kinda understanding too? Although if I'd had my way I'd get rid of that cape-"

"You don't like capes?" Lois asked, and immediately blushed. Richard rolled his eyes.

Harli grinned at her. "Well I was always walking behind him, and it kinda spoiled the view, y'know?"

Clark knew. Lois knew. Lord, even Jimmy knew what she was getting at.

"Well," Bruce began, his voice slightly scratchy "I've always thought that the cape was a bit passé."

_I just bet you did,_ Clark thought.

"I mean, it's silly," she continued, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "He probably never even noticed I'm alive, unless I was blowin' things up. Which was often."

Bruce leaned into her. "Oh he noticed! He definitely noticed! The first time-" he stopped, belatedly remembering he had an audience. "He told me the first time he saw you, you were wearing the first costume, the nylon one, you remember it?" She nodded eagerly. "Well you were just doing your gymnastics, somersaulting across the Gotham Opera House and he thought…"

"Yes?" Lois prompted, (speaking, Clark suspected, for everyone).

"He told me he'd never understood the phrase "poetry in motion," until that moment."

The office as one sighed. Everyone, even the guys, was a little bit in love with Batman at that second for saying that. Clark continued to tickle Jason, happy to be left alone with his child for once.

"But he always wondered," Bruce continued, then stopped, apparently afraid to go on.

"Yeah?" Lois leaned forward and the office as one followed suit.

"That time in Arkham, when you hoisted him over the pit of tar during the first riot, why… Why was the tar pink?"

Harli actually blushed. "Well, Mr. J. wasn't too happy about it, but I just thought… I just thought that if they were his last moments on earth, and he was such a worthy adversary and all, that the last thing he saw should be pretty."

"But the last thing he saw  _was_  pretty. The last thing he saw was you." Suddenly Bruce cleared his throat brusquely. "Before, you know, Robin saved him."

The office suddenly realised that they were watching something which quite probably should have happened in private. The two Gothamites were staring raptly at one another. Throw in a violin player and it was the climax of _Casablanca_.

"Well," Harli said brightly, recovering first "I think that about wraps everything up." She looked at Lois. "If you have no other questions?"

Lane shook her head and held out her hand warmly. Clark remembered why he liked Lois so much. "No, that should cover it. Have a safe flight back to Gotham."

"We're taking the private jet," Bruce announced, trying (Clark could tell) not to sound smug and almost succeeding.

Harli nodded cheerfully, holding out her wrist. "Come on Brucie, get out the matching bracelets." The man reluctantly snapped a pair of handcuffs onto both her wrist and his. They shared a smile. "C'Mere, SuperJason," the young woman called, pulling Jason into a hug. "You are one great kid, little man. You know that?"

The boy nodded eagerly, and all three of his parents laughed.

"C'Mere Clark." She held out her arms and after a moment's hesitation Clark leaned down to give her a hug. He still felt a little nervous; meds or no meds he thought she might try to cop a feel but she behaved herself. "You ever need a place to run, or a place to hide, you come and find me, y'hear?" she whispered so softly only Superman could've heard it. He nodded, oddly touched by the offer. "And for Pete's sake, tell that dame your secret before your head explodes!" She took his face in her hands and solemnly kissed his forehead. "You're not on your own: Team Clark will endure!" she said, enunciating clearly. And then she was gone, skipping merrily after Bruce, who Clark couldn't help but note, had not put on his jacket yet.  _Interesting._

The world seemed strangely quiet with her gone.

"So you had an interesting weekend," Lois grinned. He was surprised she'd started the conversation. Maybe Harli had had a word. But no, he saw Richard smiling fondly at them and he realised White had taken his fiancee to task over her behaviour.  _God I wish I didn't like that guy_! Clark thought to himself.

"Yeah, she was really a swell girl." And she was, psychosis and ex-boyfriends aside. He felt oddly lighter. He should have been worried, terrified that she'd spill his secret but he wasn't. Maybe insanity was becoming airborne, he mused. Or maybe he'd taken some of her advice to heart. She'd survived sincere amore, so would he. He thought sadly of Lois, of Jason, of all the years he'd lost. But there was nothing he could do about that now.

" _Guilty, thoughtless, occasionally foolish. Loving, strong. You sound like one of us to me."_

Maybe he  _was_  only human, despite his powers. And maybe it was time to let go of this belief, this jealously guarded secret that everything in the world was his fault and his responsibility. He felt guilty about the praise he received when he never really risked anything. Maybe it was time to take a risk, a real risk.

_Like going off to Krypton?_ A voice in his head chimed.  _ **That**  risk sure paid off._

But that hadn't been a risk, that had been running away from risk, from choice. That hadn't been reckless, it had been burying his head in the sand. That had been trying to undo his life, his mistakes, his risks. Boundless possibilities narrowed down to one. And because if it he'd lost the only woman he'd ever loved and his child.

Just because Harli was crazy didn't mean she wasn't right.

"Hello, earth to Clark?" Lois waved her hand in front of his eyes, and he was dragged back to the present. "Where were you Clark? Mars?"

"No, I- I was just thinking about something Harli said."

"And?"

"And, and…" Suddenly it seemed that it was now or never. "Lois, could I talk to you for moment in private?" He said it in a rush, terrified he'd lose his nerve.

"Clark, I don't know…"

"It's really important."

She took a deep breath, and he could see her fingering the lighter in her pocket. "Okay, I can head up to the roof for a few minutes."

How appropriate. "All right, let's go."

She nodded to Richard and Jason, pulling on her jacket. She was silent all the way up in the elevator. He concentrated on his breathing, willing himself calm as they stepped out onto the roof, the lights of Metropolis like a twinkling Christmas tree before them.

"Okay Clark," she said briskly, pulling out her lighter "What's all this about?"

He took a deep breath. "Lois, we need to talk."

And you know what? Finally they did.

* * *

**_The Beginning_ **

* * *

 

 

 


End file.
